


Breakfast at Newandykes'

by littlemissvincentvega



Series: Reservoir Thots [24]
Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Lazy Mornings, Morning Kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 01:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19218919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissvincentvega/pseuds/littlemissvincentvega
Summary: just a lazy morning with your husband, freddy. his attempt to make you both breakfast doesn't go swimmingly :') a request from anon on tumblr! :>





	Breakfast at Newandykes'

“Oh, fuck.”

You furrow your brows. Hearing those words come from the kitchen is never a good thing, not when Freddy’s involved. He’s not the worst chef in the world by far, but he’s certainly not the most talented. Huddled up in a few blankets on the couch, you call to him. “You okay in there, babe?”

“Uh– shit!” His response is followed closely by a clatter. Rolling your eyes, you get up and saunter into the kitchen, where a frying pan is on the floor by his feet. Freddy looks at you gingerly. “It fell.”

You look from the stove to the pan, then to your husband. “So you’re telling me that the frying pan managed to  _fall_ from there to there?” you scoff, pointing from the stove to the ground.

He nods. “Uh-huh.”

Shaking your head with a smile, you bend over to pick up the frying pan, Freddy giving your ass a squeeze as you do so. “Guess we’re not having pancakes, then,” you sigh, pulling him in for a kiss. He gently rubs your waist as you two share one, still in your pyjamas.

“Hang on…” you frown, and trace your lips over his, planting an extra kiss on his bottom lip. “Are you wearing my chapstick?”

Freddy’s face drops and he pulls away, quickly shuffling over to the fridge. “What’d you say, baby?” he asks, pretending to look for some orange juice.

“You are!!” you gasp, giggling. “I  _knew_ I could taste Dr Pepper!”

He scoffs, grabbing the OJ from the fridge and turning to face you. “I just wanted to see if it really tasted like that! And I’m not gonna go buy some from the store  _myself,_ am I? I’ll look like such a tool!”

You look your defensive husband up & down with a pitiful smile. “Sounds like somebody’s scared.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

You giggle and stand on you tiptoes to kiss his nose. “I’m only messing. If you want me to get you one, I will.”

He looks down at you suspiciously. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No! I’ll get you one next time I go to the store, okay?”

Smiling as he gazes into your eyes, your husband runs his hands up & down your back, letting them barely graze your ass. You trace your finger over his pyjama top– it’s a ratty Hulk t-shirt he’s had for a while. Full of tiny little holes and the graphic part having faded, you had told him that it was embarrassing going out with him wearing (as you had so lovingly put it) ‘something a guy that lives in his mom’s basement uses as a cumrag’. Since then, Freddy’s worn it to bed and around the house.

“Since I kinda… fucked up the pancakes, d’you want toast or...? What d’you want for breakfast?” he asks sheepishly.

“I’ll just have Fruit Brutes,” you smile, and proceed to pour a big, big bowl of them– on lazy, warm mornings like these, you two usually share a massive bowl of cereal while watching reruns of old Looney Tunes on TV. Freddy grabs the milk from the fridge and, as you finish tipping the cereal in the bowl, he pours a generous amount of milk to accompany it (though his eyes are focused on you– the kitchen’s always a golden haze at this time in the morning, and it just makes your skin glow even more than usual… he thinks it’s beautiful).

“C’mon, then,” he says. Without warning, Freddy wraps his arms around you and hoists you up in the air, carrying you into the living room bridal style. You giggle, snaking your arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He chuckles and places you down on the couch. “Find us somethin’ good to watch, beautiful.”

“Sure thing.” While Freddy heads back into the kitchen to fetch your cereal and drinks, you snuggle back underneath the blankets and flick through the channels, trying to find a cartoon to watch. He returns not a minute later, hopping beside you, his warmth radiating across to you. Just as he sets the glasses of OJ down, you find a channel airing an old episode of Tom and Jerry. “Oooh!”

“Ah, keen eyes, Mrs. Newandyke,” he chuckles, pulling a blanket over himself and cuddling up to you.

You grab the bowl of cereal from the coffee table and, leaning against Freddy, scoop up a spoonful. “Dork,” you mumble, smiling.

He sighs and presses a sticky kiss to your temple (must be from the chapstick he stole). “Your dork.”


End file.
